Swedish NickScar Tissue
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song created                                

Monday, March 22, 2021 8:55:32 PM
song updated                               

Monday, March 22, 2021 8:55:32 PM
stations playing this song              
WTOZ RADIO
Finnegans Wake Book 1 Chapter 3
IndieMusicPeople

 

















Big thanks to Felton Fernandez for helping with most of the keyboards. AND to Apple, Motu, and Logic, for making equipment that allows someone like me to record music in a little corner at home..

I try to live my life from day to day. It isn't as easy as what some might say. There's always you hanging over me. It's like you never gonna set me free.
Chorus:
(You're like..) Scar tissue on my brain, you're driving me insane. You've got to let me know that you one day let me go.
Scar tissue on my brain, you're driving me insane. You've got to let me know that you won't let me go down.... x
Song Comments

WTOZ RADIO
I like this tune - reminds me of Kim Mitchell(Max Webster) though I'd like to hear the vocals mixed back a tad - otherwise, cool tune.


Finnegans Wake Book 1 Chapter 3
O'Strap tissue of threats and obuses such as roebucks raugh at pinnacle's peak and after this sort. Humphrey's unsolicited visitor, Davy or Titus, on a burgley's clan march from the middle west, a hikely excellent crude man about road who knew his Bullfoost Mountains like a starling bierd, after doing a long dance untidled to Cloudy Green, deposend his bockstump on the waityoumay- wantme, after having blew some quaker's (for you! Oates!) in through the houseking's keyhole to attract attention, bleated through the gale outside which the tairor of his clothes was hog- callering, first, be the hirsuiter, that he would break his bulshey- wigger's head for him, next, be the heeltapper, that he would break the gage over his lankyduckling head the same way he would crack a nut with a monkeywrench and, last of all, be the stirabouter, that he would give him his (or theumperom's or any- bloody else's) thickerthanwater to drink and his bleday steppe- brodhar's into the bucket. He demanded more wood alcohol to pitch in with, alleging that his granfather's was all taxis and that it was only after ten o'connell, and this his isbar was a public oven for the sake of irsk irskusky, and then, not easily dis- couraged, opened the wrathfloods of his atillarery and went on at a wicked rate, weathering against him in mooxed metaphores from eleven thirty to two in the afternoon without even a lunch- eonette interval for House, son of Clod, to come out, you jew- beggar, to be Executed Amen. Earwicker, that patternmind, that paradigmatic ear, receptoretentive as his of Dionysius, longsuffer-


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